The Hero of Ranger Company
by ZuWang
Summary: How a CID agent suddenly becomes ‘the Hero of Ranger Company.’ A mostly pre-series Colby fic. Rating for violence and language.
1. Chapter 1

How a CID agent suddenly becomes 'the Hero of Ranger Company.' A (mostly) pre-series Colby fic.

Lots of warnings and labels on this fic.

Not my characters: Charlie, Don, David, Colby, Nikki. My characters: Smitty, Rodriguez, Lerg, Smith, Jeeter and Osterman. My characters will try to play respectfully with their visitors. Thank you to the Numb3rs creative team for giving my imagination somewhere to go while my body is crammed into coach-class seats on long plane trips.

This is a pre-series (read "military") fic. Soldiers curse, though I try not to. I will not write curses out, but you will all know what they mean anyway. Don't like, don't read.

This is a fic set in a war zone. There will be violence and death.

There's going to be a fair amount of military jargon in this fic. In recognition of the fact that most of the world's citizens have never worn a uniform, I will end each chapter with a military-to-civilian translation. If you don't understand a word, take a look at the glossary. If I didn't translate your word, let me know and I'll fix that in the next chapter.

Colby's cell phone rang as he went out to his patio to retrieve the steaks. He answered it one handed, juggling a set of tongs with the other. "Hi," he said distractedly. After all, it wasn't like the call was going to be from work: his boss and all of his teammates, even Charlie, were in his living room. His attention was immediately grabbed, though, by the voice on the other end of the line.

"_Hey Hero. It's Smitty. How ya doin'?"_ Colby dropped the steak he'd been turning over, instinctively tried to grab it before it fell, and managed to burn his hand in the process. He yelped. _"Hero? You OK?"_

Colby knew he was grinning like an idiot and didn't care. "Yeah—SMITTY!! How long has it been?" Several minutes later, Don wandered out onto the patio looking for his youngest agent. He found Colby leaning on the railing, a wide smile on his face, cell phone at his ear and the steaks still on the grill. All were a bit over-cooked. When Colby realized Don was there, he looked a tad embarrassed. "Oh. Damn…Smitty, can I call you back? My boss is here…really? Sure. Let me give you my address…"

Don retrieved the steaks and headed back to the living room with that patented "Don grin" on his face. When the team shot him questioning looks, he shook his head. "I don't know, but if the look on his face is any indication, I think he's on the phone with a woman."

"Not a woman." corrected Colby, coming up behind his boss. "Just an old friend. He's in town just for the day and wants to come over and catch up."

"You want us to leave?" inquired David.

"Nah. Watch the game. Smitty loves basketball. He'll join us…." Colby looked a little embarrassed, though. "I just gotta warn you about a few things, though." The team collectively tensed. Sometimes old friends of Colby's could be troublesome. Colby noted their sudden silence and correctly judged its cause. He rushed to explain, "No, nothing like that. Smitty's one of the good guys. It's just…well, he was in an incident in Afghanistan. He's in a wheelchair. He lost both of his legs. So…I just wanted to warn you."

"Colby, man," David replied for the whole group. "That's not anything you have to warn us about. We're not going to stare or embarrass you. _We all is sofistikated types_." He said it with a mocking grin and a Deep South country-bumpkin accent. Colby laughed. David noted a wary look in the man's eyes, though. "What else, man? That can't be what you were worried about."

Colby shrugged. "It's not a big deal. You're right. You guys are great. Smitty's a bit over-the-top, but he's a great guy. Never mind. I'm gonna put another steak on the fire. When he rings, could somebody buzz him into the building?"

Smitty turned out to be a thirtyish, stocky man already beginning to go bald. He was not, however, in a wheelchair. When Colby answered the door, he was looking eye-to-eye with the man. Colby started, then grinned and hugged the other ex-soldier tightly. "Damn, man! Look at you!"

"Magic Legs" Smitty quoted, Forest Gump style, lifting his pant legs enough that titanium "ankles" showed beneath the cuffs. A cheer sounded from further inside the apartment. Smitty didn't even skip a beat before bowing, as if to an audience. "Thank you, thank you. For my next trick, I will walk across the foyer, completely unassisted!"

Colby laughed, shaking his head in a resigned manner. "You haven't changed a bit. My friends are inside watching the Lakers. You want a beer?" He asked, leading the other man into the living room.

"Absolutely. You have friends? Are any of them cute?" They entered the room and Smitty looked around. On the couch and floor sat Don, Charlie, David and Nikki. He lifted an eyebrow at the newest team member before Colby stopped him with a quick remark.

"She's dating Ian Edgerton."

Smitty's eyebrows lifted even further. "THE Ian Edgerton?" At Colby's affirmative response, the soldier whistled. "Sooooo no cute 'friends' here for me. For the best, I guess."

"I don't know," replied David, "Charlie's got a boyish thing going on…" he tried to pinch Charlie's cheek. Charlie smacked him.

"That would be David, my partner." Supplied Colby, then introduced the rest of the team and left Smitty ensconced in a la-z-boy while he went to fetch a round of beers and the food. When he returned with the beers, steaks and some chips and salsa, he found a commercial on the TV and his friends and Smitty chatting.

"Why does he call you 'Hero,' Colb?" asked Charlie, popping a chip in his mouth.

Colby grunted. "Long story," he mumbled. "Not an interesting one. I told you Smitty was prone to exaggeration. What's the score?" Smitty looked at him curiously.

David quirked an eyebrow, but didn't push the subject. "26-10, Lakers." The group settled down to watch the game and eat.

An hour and a dozen beers later, the game was over (56-50, Lakers), and the agents and ex-soldiers were laughing and teasing like they'd known each other for years. "So, really," began Charlie again. "Why do you call him Hero? Inquiring minds want to know."

"Yeah," interjected David. "And you never told me what that sniper Clay Porter meant when he called you 'The hero of Ranger Company.' I'm betting Smitty can tell me what that was about."

"Hero of Ranger Company?" Don wondered. Neither David nor Colby had shared that bit of trivia with him. "Didn't you tell me you had a desk job that kept you out of the line of fire?"

Colby blushed, laughed, and took a swallow of beer before answering. "Yeah. I spent nearly my whole year there behind a nice, safe desk in Kandahar. I wasn't even there with the Rangers. I was CID."

"No man," interrupted Smitty, leaning forward with a scowl on his face. "I can't let that stand. I just can't." He addressed the assembled agents. "This man saved my life. And not just mine, either. And I can't let him pretend like he spent his whole tour behind the wire. I'm a Ranger, and he saved my ass. And he saved my fiance's ass, and he got us and my CO home."

Colby jerked. "Fiance?"

"I'll get to that, Hero." He said, making a shushing movement with one hand. "First I'm going to tell your friends here how we met."

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Military to Civilian Glossary:

**Rangers:** Not really a company, but the term is close enough. Ranger School is one of the toughest Army schools around. It's physically and mentally brutal. Most soldiers called "Ranger" are also Airborne Infantry. That's about a half rung less impressive than Special Forces, though neither Rangers nor SF would ever say it.

**CID:** Criminal Investigative Division. Basically, CID is to Military Police what detectives are to big city police departments. Sort of FBI-esque.

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	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Not mine: Colby, Don, Charlie, David, Nikki. Mine: Smitty, Lerg, Jeeter, Rodriguez, Osterman, Smith. I promise that my characters will play nice with the rather impressively written (but regretfully not mine) cast of Numb3rs. Note: I work for peanuts. It's a good idea only to sue rich people.

This is a jargon-heavy pic, so there's a military to civilian glossary at the end. If you see a word that you don't understand and I didn't explain, let me know and I'll fix it in chapter 3.

For the nice reviewers who are worried I'll never finish: I never upload the first chapter of a fic until I'm done writing the last one. This is written, I just like keeping you in suspense!

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A hush fell over the assembled agents. From the look on Smitty's face, this was obviously going to be a story worth hearing. Moreover, Colby's teammates were more than a little interested in learning any information they were able to gather about their somewhat secretive colleague. Once Smitty was certain that he had the agents' attention, the ex-soldier began to tell the tale with all the flare of an old-world performer.

"It was the middle of the winter, January, 2002. Winter is cold as Hell in Afghanistan. Especially in the mountains. And that's where we were. It gets so cold there you're sure your wiener is going to freeze right off. Especially if you're a Southern boy like me.

"I was deployed with the 82nd Airborne Division. Me and the rest of my squad of Ranger-types were headed out to this little village up in the Shahi-Kot area north of a town called Baghlan. Hero here hopped a ride in our 'copter." He broke off, looking at Colby. "You were with some Colonel. A lawyer or something. What was his name?"

"Alero," supplied Colby. "Lieutenant Colonel Alero."

"Yeah. Alero. He died in the crash. I never even talked to him. Anyway, the 'copter was supposed to drop off my squad and then take Hero and Alero wherever the Hell they were going. Only, that's not the way it worked out."

Smitty swung a significant look at Colby, who was busy trying to stare a hole into his living room carpet. He continued, "I don't really remember the crash too good. The gunner, Kelly Rodriguez, she was only like 19 then, Rodriguez screamed 'RPG'--that's Rocket Propelled Grenade for you civilians--and then I don't remember a Damn thing for a while. Hero, you wanna fill in the next bit?" He waited.

Colby sighed resignedly, then continued the story in a monotone, not looking up from his chosen patch of rug. "There were two helicopters. Ours had us and the crew in it, and the other one was just full of guns. The idea was that, if someone fired on us, the 'copter we were in would get out of Dodge, and the other 'copter would pound whoever it was with the guns so we could get safe. Only it didn't work out that way. The RPG hit the other 'copter and blew it out of the sky, and big chunks of it hit our 'copter. Down we went. Headfirst into the side of the mountain." He looked at Smitty, who waved his beer bottle in a 'continue' motion. Colby went on, "When we hit, stuff flew all over the cabin of our 'copter. Something fell on my hands, and it hurt like Hell, but I wasn't really hurt bad. The pilots in front got the worst of it. The whole front section of the Chinook caved in like a hatchback car that got hit by a 16-wheel Truck. Both pilots and both of the front gunners died on impact, and so did Colonel Alero, 'cause he was up front." Colby looked at Smitty, an apology plain on the agent's face. "Smitty wasn't wearing his seatbelt. He really got tossed around. I don't even know what hit you man. When I was able to get up and move, your legs were already..."

The other soldier cut him off. "I know. Nothin' you could have done, man. Anyway, you were hurt. Damn, everybody was hurt." He addressed the other agents again. "Both his hands were broken." Colby crossed his arms, sticking both hands into his armpits as if to hide the damage that was no longer visible anyway. Smitty went on, "After we went down, there was a whole bunch of small arms fire--AKs, M-16s, Hell, probably a musket or two outside on that mountain. Those guys will use any weapon they can get their hands on, and they make some of their own, too. They knew right where we went down, and they were coming to get us. I passed out, and when I woke up, it sounded like we were on the wrong end of a real busy rifle range. So F___ing loud." Colby smiled ruefully and nodded his head at the memory, still not meeting any of his teammates' eyes. Smitty went on, "When I came to, Hero here was putting tourniquets on both my legs. Calm as you please, with two broken hands and lead coming right through the skin of the 'copter over our heads..."

The living room faded around Colby, and in his mind, he was on the floor of a wrecked helicopter on the windy side of a frigid mountain.

_People are always saying that when they're in a car crash or when they fell off a ladder or something the whole thing went really slow for them--like the world gets stuck in a slow-motion replay--but that's not how the crash felt to Specialist Granger. The cute rear-gunner yelled "RPG." Granger looked out the rear door in time to see the other 'copter blow apart. There was this huge ROAR and their 'copter fell out of the sky spinning. And WHAM it hit the mountain and CRUNCH WHAM everything inside went flying. It was really LOUD and it happened all at once. Not slow at all. Those were Granger's first thoughts when he was able to get his mind in any kind of order to think at all. His second thought was "Holy S___, my hands hurt." Not poetic, but there you go. Sometimes there's no poetry. He shoved a crate of ammunition off of his right hand and tried to flex the fingers. They wouldn't bend, and a lightning bolt of pain shot from his middle finger all the way up to his elbow. For a while, at least, Granger was going to be a lefty. That was a problem. Granger shot right handed, and he was pretty sure there was going to be a need for him to shoot something in the very near future._

_Granger heard a groan and looked around the smoky ruin that, until moments before, had been the rear cabin of a CH47 helicopter. The view did not make him feel better about that whole not-being-able-to-shoot thing. _

_He had been the last person to board the 'copter, and was therefore sitting all the way in the back of the beast. The rear seat is not usually the best one. There's no air movement back there, and a person in that spot can see past the rear gunner, out the rear door to the ground as it sweeps past in a rather nauseating fashion. It's not uncommon for rear passengers to puke all over the floor of a Chinook. In this case, though, his unenviable location had probably been what had saved Granger from being too seriously injured. The front cabin of the aircraft was a flat, mangled mess. Granger didn't even have to check to know that his CO, Colonel Alero, who'd been so happy to score a seat up there, was now beyond saving. Granger probably could, however, help the small group of Rangers who were slowly waking up around him._

_It was at that moment that his mind registered the sound of AK47 fire coming from outside the 'copter. "S___." The skin of a helicopter is thin. Specialist Granger knew it would lend no protection to its occupants against high-powered rifle fire, and their 'bullet-proof' vests only slightly more so. Sure enough, as that thought blossomed in his head, the first bullet sliced through the downhill side of the 'copter. It didn't even slow down as it crossed the 'copter's interior and exited through the roof. _

_"They've gotta be below us on the mountain." Said the cute rear gunner. Rodriguez, according to her name tape. She was with some National Guard unit, called up for temporary war-time duty from one of the flat states in the middle of the country. She had to know that she was the only member of her helicopter's crew to have survived the crash, but she was cool as ice. The lower right leg of her tan uniform was slowly turning red from blood. She ignored it. "We should get uphill. There are some rocks up there we could get shelter behind. Maybe we can even find a cave." The whole mountain range was covered in rocks and caves. And mines. Better not to think about the mines._

_Granger nodded. "You grab whatever supplies you can salvage and find us a spot. I'm gonna see who I can wake up." She nodded, beginning to remove her machine gun from its mount on the back of the 'copter. Granger looked around. The man on his right, a Captain, was unconscious. Blood was streaming from under his ruined Kevlar helmet. He'd have to wait until Granger could find someone who could help carry him. On the floor at their feet was a younger man; a private whose name tag read 'Jeeter.' Private Jeeter was awake, but groaning in pain. Granger tapped his shoulder. "What hurts?"_

_"My whole F___ing body. What the Hell happened?"_

_I have no time to sympathize, thought Specialist Granger. Gotta get moving. "'Copter crashed. Can you walk?" Another bullet sliced through the aircraft's side. It embedded itself in a rucksack lying next to Jeeter. The private stared at it for a long second before answering._

_"F___ yeah I can walk. Where's my rifle?" He rooted around for a few seconds, grabbed an M16 and a tin box of ammunition, and then found a second rifle and handed it to Granger. "You know how to use this or are you an M9 guy?" The Ranger didn't quite sneer when he asked the question, but Granger heard the unstated insult anyway. In Afghanistan and Iraq, soldiers who work behind desks often carry pistols. The soldiers who go outside the wire—that is, off the semi-protected bases--carry rifles and consider themselves to be the 'real soldiers,' apart from and more important than their 'chair-borne' brethren. _

_Granger didn't have time for a pissing contest with the man either. He held his hands in front of the Ranger's face. They were swelling up impressively now, and had started to turn a nice shade of purplish-black. "I can't shoot anything right now, Private." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a soldier stirring behind him and passed the M-16 to that man without really looking at him. "I'll help who I can in here. You two cover the area. Rodriguez is trying to find us a place to hole up in. Bad guys are on the hill below us." The Rangers might have seen the sense in that, or maybe they were just responding to the commanding tone that had entered Granger's voice. Whatever the reason, though, they did as they were told, taking up positions on either side of the 'copter's rear door. Granger soon heard their M-16s returning fire toward whoever was below them. The number of AK rounds entering the helicopter decreased markedly. Granger turned to the next Ranger he found. His nametag said 'SMITH,' and he had no feet. Each leg ended in a stump just below the knee, and the stumps were bleeding steadily onto the floor of the helicopter._

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Military to Civilian Glossary:

**Ranks**: There are two rank scales relevant to this fic.

Officers from low to high rank; Enlisted from low to high rank;

Second Lieutenant **Private**

First Lieutenant Private First Class

**Captain Specialist/**Corporal (same rank, different job)

Major **Sergeant**

**Lieutenant Colonel **Staff Sergeant

Colonel Sergeant First Class

various Generals various Master Sergeants.

**RPG**--Rocket Propelled Grenade. An explosive projectile that is shot from a launcher, small enough to be carried by one person. The Taliban's weapon of choice for shooting down helicopters. Incidentally, also rather scary when one is fired at your land-bound vehicle.

**Chinook **(also) **CH47**--a type of helicopter which has two rotors (the propeller things) on top. They're huge and well armed. They have three compartments, including the rear one our passengers were in.

**AK** (**AK47**)--Russian rifle popular all over the world.

**M-16**--Standard US Army rifle.

**M-9**--also called 9 mm. Standard US Army pistol.

**Musket**--pre-rifle. It's got a long barrel, shoots what looks like big ball bearings, and is literally a pain to fire. Popular pretty much everywhere, in the year 1776.

Rodriguez's gun would be a "**50 cal"** or 50 caliber fully automatic machine gun. BIG gun. BIG bullets. Tends to be fastened to something (like the helicopter) with bolts. Rocks the whole 'copter when it's fired. That big.

**'Outside the wire'**--off the military base. In Afghanistan and Iraq, there's an unwritten but real difference between the status of those soldiers who go outside the wire regularly and those who don't. See also "REMF" in Chapter 3.

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	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimers: I do not own, nor do I claim to have created, the Numb3rs characters, themes and locations. I am very grateful for their creation—they give me something to play with on long trips.

To all who sent them, thanks for the well wishes. Or as they say in the Army: Hooah!

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His mind returning from its reverie, Colby found himself almost suddenly back in his living room in LA. He glanced around at his co-workers and then down at the beer bottle he still held in his hands. At some point during the narrative, he'd finished drinking the beer and peeled the label into soggy, crumpled strips. He stood, startling his friends. "I need something stronger than beer." He mumbled by way of explanation, then stalked off toward the kitchen.

"Me too," shouted David toward his partner's retreating back. He looked over to the visiting soldier. "Your name's Smith? Why Smitty?"

He shrugged. "It's a big Army. Every unit has a pile of 'Smiths' and a bunch of 'Johnsons.' Somewhere along the line, some of the Smiths become Smittys. Yall don't want to know what the extra Johnsons get called." The group laughed. "We actually had a Smith _called_ 'Smith' in the 'copter with us. She was a doctor or something. She was headed up to the village with us Rangers to do some 'hearts-and-minds' type stuff. You know, heal the kids and the old people, get 'em to love us. Convince 'em to stop shooting at us." He thought for a moment. "That woman had cajones, you know? A doc, no real shoot-em-up Army experience, out there with us...real stones."

Colby returned from the kitchen with a half-full bottle of Johnny Walker and a pile of mismatched glasses. He poured himself a drink before nodding in agreement with Smitty's last comment. "Smith was a PA--Physician's Assistant. She was tough. She'd never fired anything but an M9 before then, I think, but she learned fast when she needed to. And she hung in with you Ranger types like she'd been a snake-eater all her life."

"Are you telling this story or are you getting drunk?" Sniped Smitty, pouring himself a generous dollop of the whiskey.

"Both."

"Well, shut up. You had three years to tell these guys all about our little adventure, and you didn't. So you missed your turn." Smitty reached into his jeans pocket, pulled out a metal disk about the size and shape of a half-dollar coin and waved it at Colby with a smirk. He held out his glass. Colby klinked it with his own. "Kampai." Each took a swallow of the amber liquid. The coin went back in Smitty's pocket.

After a pause to dramatically savor the whiskey, Smitty picked up the story again. "So there we are, on the side of a mountain in God knows where, with no communications, no transportation, and some warlord's f___ing militia trying to turn us into US Army hamburgers. And Specialist F___ing Granger, who's some REMF nobody even knows, is giving orders to a squad of Rangers..."

"You all listened! It's not like you had to..." Colby sounded indignant.

"Hell yeah, we all listened, Hero! You were making sense! Nobody else was giving orders, and there you were like some G__D___ general, barking out orders, and they made sense! So Hell yeah we followed them! Good thing we did, too!"

Colby blushed. He stared into his whiskey, but what he saw was not the alcohol. What he saw was blood. Smitty's blood, he guessed.

_Granger finished tying off what was left of the Wounded Ranger's legs with the belts from his own and another soldier's uniforms. The other man wouldn't mind. He'd died in the crash and would never know how his belt was used. Granger couldn't even read the dead soldier's nametape. It was too covered in blood. He heard a sarcastic-sounding yell from outside the 'copter._

_"You comin', Hero?" It was one of the Rangers he'd sent outside to cover them--the one whose name he'd never gotten. The man with no legs groaned. Granger looked down at him. The man looked back, groggily coming awake._

_"Yeah," Granger hollered back, heaving Smitty over his shoulder and heading for the door. When he got there, Private Jeeter and the other man, Sergeant Osterman according to his uniform, and a tall female Captain with patches indicating she worked in the medical field were gathered in a group. The three lay down protective covering fire while ali five soldiers ran uphill. Granger, unable to shoot, carried a semi-conscious Smitty. About 100 meters up the mountain from the crash site, Rodriguez had found a small hollow in the hillside protected by a natural wall of boulders. She fired crazily down the hill with the .50 cal she'd taken from the helicopter, covering the last of the group's retreat. Without the bolts that normally attached the gun to the helicopter's rear door, her aim was none-too-steady. Rodriguez had rested it in a crevasse between two of the boulders, and fired it somewhat haphazardly over the group's heads. Wild shooting or not, though, few people are dumb enough to come out of cover when a .50 Cal is firing toward them. The men on the mountain below kept their heads down. The Rangers, the doc, and Granger made it to the hollow without getting shot for their trouble. _

_Specialist Granger wormed his way between two boulders and into the protective circle. He gently lowered the soldier he'd been carrying onto the ground, leaning the man against the base of one of the big rocks. The man groaned, then grabbed Granger's arm with a surprisingly firm grasp. _

_If he'd been surprised, though, to find Smitty conscious, he was shocked by the man's first words. "Where's my D___ed rifle?"_

_He was almost as surprised by his own reply. "I'll get it."_

Smitty and Colby were dragged back to LA by Don's snort. "Yeah, he sounds like you, Colby. Never mind that you nearly get killed--'Where's my gun?'"

The group in the living room laughed, and Colby joined them, though with a pained expression on his face.

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Military to Civilian Glossary

**PA **–Physicians' Assistant. Trained to a higher level than a nurse, but not a doctor. Can perform many of the same functions as a doctor.

**Coins **and the coining tradition will be explained in a later chapter.

**REMF:** Rear Echelon Mother F___er. I told you soldiers curse a lot. This, along with 'chairborne Ranger,' is the common term for soldiers who never go "outside the wire."

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	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Numb3rs. I wish I did. But I don't. Thanks to those who do.

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Smitty looked offended at Don's comment. "I'm no where near as crazy as this guy is. And I'll prove it right now."

Colby made a final attempt to stop his friend's rendition of a story he'd tried to forget. "Smitty, I was just, you know, hyped up on adrenaline and not thinking straight. I didn't…They don't want to hear all this."

David studied his partner, trying to see the sign that said Colby was not up to hearing any more. "You OK man? We can talk about something else if you really don't want to…"

Smitty cut David off. Refilling Colby's glass, he pushed it toward his old friend and looked stern. "Not talking about it doesn't help. Gotta tell someone."

"Didn't you once say something like that to me?" asked Charlie.

"Huh." Colby grunted, taking a swallow from his cup. "Guess I did."

"'Cause it's good advice." Decreed Smitty. "Now where was I? Oh, yeah. Here's where Hero plays the part of 'Craziest Guy on Planet Earth.'"

_Specialist Granger took a quick look around the hollow, assessing the situation. Catching the female Captain by her sleeve, he said "Smith—you're a doctor?" _

_She nodded the affirmative, looking worriedly at the badly wounded soldier at Colby's feet. "I'm a PA, but I can't do much for him here. And even if I could do something useful without a hospital, my med bag is still back in the helicopter." _

"_OK. We'll have to get that too." He listened for a moment to the gunfire still coming in from down the mountain and to its staccato response from Rodriguez, Jeeter and Osterman. "And some ammo." _

"Theoretically, now," Smitty informed his listeners, "Hero here was low man on our particular totem pole. Three of us outranked him, and the doctor was an officer, and besides, we were F__ing Rangers. But Hero here ignores all that. He reaches over to Sgt Osterman and just tells him he and Jeeter are going back to the 'copter. And Osterman's so surprised that he just lets him do it!"

"Wait," said Charlie. "You went back to the helicopter? That is crazy."

"Told you," replied Smitty smugly. " This guy is MUCH crazier than me."

Granger waved his hands, denying the charge. "OK, like I said, I really wasn't thinking straight. I had a lot of adrenaline racing through my bloodstream. And remember, it wasn't just that we needed to get the ammo and stuff. That Captain with the head injury was still down there in the 'copter and, as far as we knew, still alive. Not like we could have left him to the Talibs."

'and that,' thought Don 'is why he's on our team.' He said nothing.

_Without the weight of a wounded soldier on his shoulders, the second trip Specialist Granger made between the hollow and the helicopter was faster than the first. He and Jeeter waited for a pause in the gunfire coming from down the hill before jumping the boulders and sprinting flat out for the 'copter. Specialist Roderiguez fired her big gun off to their left, carefully avoiding Granger and Jeeter but encouraging their adversaries to keep down. The soldiers raced down the mountain to the defunct 'copter-- _"Looked like Swiss cheese by that point," supplied Colby--a_nd ducked inside. The wounded Captain, whose name turned out to be Lerg, was awake and standing upright in the crumpled 'copter. He looked curiously at his visitors' hasty entry. _

"_Was goin' on?" he asked groggily. _

_Jeeter looked at the man; his commander. "Um sir—you need to sit down, OK?" He helped the man to the floor and looked to Granger. "You think he can run with us back up to the rocks?" _

_Granger considered the wounded Captain. "He's going to have to. We'll have our hands full. I don't think we should give him a weapon, though." Jeeter nodded doubtfully and Granger continued, "Grab all the ammo you can find. And the med kit." He reached down to pick up a rifle on the floor—maybe Smitty's, maybe not—and winced as he tried to grip the weapon. Holding out his arms, he told the other man "might as well load me up. I can't shoot like this, but I can still carry stuff." Jeter piled Granger's arms full and then filled his own. In addition to ammo and the medical kit, they took as many MRE's as they could. Both were pretty sure they'd need the food. As they were preparing to return to the hollow, a sudden, deafening silence fell. The .50 Cal had run out of ammunition. _

_Jeeter looked at Granger. "That's not good. What now Hero?" _

"_Now we run." He pushed Cpt. Lerg out of the helicopter and before him as he fit actions to words. _

_That third trip across no-man's-land was when the world finally slowed down in Colby's mind. To this day, he could remember, clearly, every footfall; every 'ping' of a bullet off the rocks at their feet. He herded Cpt Lerg, encouraging the wounded man to run, but Lerg managed little more than a lurching trot. It was the very first time in Granger's life when he thought he might actually die. He finally leapt the rocks into the hollow, dropped his arm load of equipment and pulled Lerg in after himself._

Again, Colby's reverie was broken; this time by Smitty's laughter. "You guys would never believe the look on this guy's face when he came over those rocks into our little haven. Like all the hounds of Hell were two inches behind him. Ammo 'n stuff flying out of his arms, falling in the hollow, all over the rocks…I swear he cleared the boulder by about three feet in one jump." The ex-soldier was laughing so hard he had to pause to catch his breath. After a moment he continued, "and then he walks over, hands me a rifle and says 'here.' Just 'here.' Like, 'oh, by the way, I found your rifle for you.'"

By this time, Colby was just lubricated enough to laugh along. A guffaw escaped his mouth as he imagined for the first time what he must have looked like at that moment.

Nikki shook her head in bewilderment. "I can't see how that could possibly be funny to you. Either of you."

Colby considered that statement as rationally as his inebriated state would allow. He finally decided that there was no way he'd ever be able to explain this joke to any civilian—even these men and women who'd seen everything an FBI agent sees in a city like LA. "I bet Edgerton'd laugh," he finally grumbled grumpily.

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Military to Civilian Glossary:

MRE: Meal, Ready to Eat—a filling, though not altogether tasty, meal in a bag. It includes an entrée, a few side dishes, a packet of stuff like toilet paper and condiments, and about 2,000 calories. There's even this little disk that heats up when it gets wet, thereby allowing you to have a warm entrée.

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	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own, rent, lease, or claim anything in the Numb3rs universe. I am glad that those who do own them let me borrow them once in a while.

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Chapter 5

With effort, Smitty brought his hysterics under control. "OK, OK, so there we all are; four Rangers, two really beat up; a doc who barely knows how to shoot; a National Guard helo-crew member firing a gun that's bigger than she is, and this crazy REMF who thinks he's MacArthur come again. And we're all stuck in the middle of no-where with no way of knowing if anybody even has a clue we're out there, and we're still catching fire from who-knows-how-many bad guys down the side of the mountain. And that's where things stood when I passed out. I remember bits and snatches of the next few days, but not a whole lot more until I woke up in Germany." He swung his glass out to clank against Colby's. "So, if your comrade is blitzed enough at long last to participate in this little story-telling fest, I will relinquish the floor to him. And I will go pee." He levered himself ungracefully out of the easy chair and set off to look for the restroom.

Colby watched his friend walk down the hall with a sense of wonder. 'The last time I saw him he had no legs,' he thought. 'Damned if that keeps a Ranger from walking.' He gazed through alcohol-glazed eyes into the waiting faces of his teammates. "Oh, yeah. OK, I don't tell as good a story as Smitty can, but here goes."

"The Talibs and us were at a kind of impasse. We had the high ground and good cover, but they had more people and more weapons, and for all we know they had an unlimited supply of ammunition. So for the rest of the day, it'd go something like this; a bad guy would decide he wanted to move—to look around, or maybe to go get something—and Rodriguez would fire a round or two from the big gun and—'whoops'—the guy ducks back down. Or a couple of times a group of bad guys tried to get up to the helicopter, I guess to get whatever was left down there they could use. And then Jeeter, Osterman and Smith—doc Smith, not Smitty—would all fire down the hill and chase 'em back away. And it'd get quiet for a little while until someone got bored or ancy again, or maybe they decided that we weren't shooting because we were out of ammunition or something and it'd start all over again. The gimps—those of us who were useless to shoot anything—kinda took care of each other. I packed snow around Smitty's legs, trying to keep 'em cold and clean at the same time, to keep the bleeding down. And I found a bandage for Captain Lerg's head and tried to keep him quiet and sitting down. He kept trying to stand up. Head injuries are weird sometimes. And it just kinda went on like that until it started getting dark."

_Winter in the mountains in __Afghanistan__ is cold. Night in winter, with no blankets and no fire, is really cold. The night passed slowly and miserably as the soldiers fought simply to keep warm. At some point well after dark (and it gets really dark up there), there came sounds from the vicinity of the crash as the Talibs finally managed to loot the helicopter. Rodriguez fired a volley of rounds to chase them away from the group's fallen members once more, for which Colby would be grateful forever. Some time very close to morning the Talibs stopped moving around or shooting. Granger didn't know if that was because they lost interest, or because they'd run out of ammunition. He sure wasn't willing to believe they were gone or dead. Mostly, though, the small group shivered and waited for sun rise. _

_Morning brought a modicum of warmth along with a spectacular view of the valley far below. The soldiers surveyed the area; the remains of the helicopter, the pock-marked no-man's-land which evidenced the fight of the day before, the shell casings littering their hollow. The mountain below them was silent and empty. _

_The first to speak was Sgt. Osterman, standing at Granger's elbow behind the rock wall which had kept them alive thus far. "We'll have to move. The Talibs know where we are and our guys don't. That makes this a not-so-safe place to be." _

_Granger__ nodded. "We'll have to carry Sgt. Smith and Cpt. Lerg. Unless you think we're going to be able to wake Lerg up?" _

_Doc Smith answered "I don't think he's going to wake up, whether we want him to or not. There's probably something in the 'copter we can use as a stretcher." _

_Osterman studied Granger. "Can you carry Smitty? Sgt. Smith—Smitty—you think you can carry him?" He gestured to Granger's swollen, blackened hands. "We need to give the rifles to people who can shoot them, and they won't be able to do that and carry Smitty at the same time." At Granger's nod, he continued, "and that just leaves one thing; which way?"_

_Granger was surprised to find four sets of eyes on him, waiting for a decision. 'I guess I've been elected leader of this little gang. Huh. Not sure I like that…' "Down." He replied, trying to sound sure and authoritative. "Our guys won't be able to pick us up off this mountain. We need to get to a road."_

"Were they actually gone," asked Charlie, "Or were they just waiting? Just being quiet?"

Smitty, returning down the hallway, laughed. "No, they were gone. I don't think Hero impressed on you just how cold it was on that mountain. If we coulda gone, we would have, too. The Talibs went home to their nice, warm houses…well…their huts anyway." He pointed to a frame on the wall in the hallway. "Hero, what's this? It's not an Army medal, but it's in a frame with your other medals."

Colby mumbled something, but Don went to join Smitty in the hall. "That's an FBI medal of meritorious conduct. I'll tell you that story sometime. It just might be better than this one."

"So Hero didn't learn not to get himself in trouble?"

Don laughed. "No. He's got a Doctorate in Trouble. But we put up with him anyway."

Smitty shook his head in disbelief. "_Better_ than the 'copter crash story?" He looked over at Colby, who was weaving slightly in his chair. "Or _stupider_ than the 'copter crash story?"

It was David's turn to laugh. "It's a fine line, isn't it? We like the guy, so we give him the benefit of the doubt."

Nikki added, "most of the time."

Colby had had enough of the discussion. "Are we bashing me, or are we listening to this stupid story?"

Nikki couldn't resist. "Hey—even he admits this was stupid, not good!"

"That's not what I…" Colby stuttered. "I mean…Smitty, you started this. Help me out, man."

Smitty came to Colby's rescue. "Stupid or good, either way, Hero kept me alive for the next few days. So, stupid or good, I'm glad he was around."

"Yeah, that's pretty much what we've decided," returned David. "So are you telling the story or are you telling the story? You'd decided to go downhill. And….?"

Colby nodded. "We had to make a stop first, at the helicopter. We knew we couldn't take Colonel Alero or the rest with us, but we needed a stretcher for Lerg and any food or water we could find. Not that we found much. The Afghanis had taken pretty much everything."

_The team approached the wreck slowly, wary for booby traps or a return of the Afghan militia from the night before. The helicopter lay half on its right side, nose facing uphill, with the front two compartments, now accordioned into one large mass, pushed into the mountain's rocky surface. Inside the fuselage, which was riddled with holes, was a chaotic mess. Two bodies, stripped of their Kevlar helmets and flak vests, lay jumbled on the floor._

"Allen and Richardson," supplied Smitty. "They were on my team."

_All ammunition, most of the MRE's, and every bottle of water that had been in the 'copter the night before had been taken, as had almost everything else of value, like flashlights, Smitty's I Pod, and Jeeter's last pack of cigarettes. Also missing were the 82__nd__ Airborne patches which had adorned the dead soldiers' uniforms. The team laid out the two soldiers as respectfully as they could. They tried to collect Colonel Alero and the pilots and gunners who had been in the front compartments of the 'copter, but twisted metal made that task impossible. The recovery team would have to do that grizzly work. Sgt Osterman said a prayer for those who could not be helped, and the team filed out of the helicopter._

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Military to Civilian Glossary:

'Doc' does not necessarily refer to a doctor. In military parlance, 'Doc' is often the nickname given to whoever performs the medical tasks in your unit. This may be a doctor, nurse, or even a medic. I'll use it to differentiate Smith from Smitty, mainly because I was confusing myself.

MacArthur: refers to one of the better-known US generals, Douglas MacArthur. He was a well-respected leader, but more than a bit on the self-involved side. He was known to expect everyone to follow his commands--including one VERY pissed off President of the US.

The 82nd Airborne patches (found on the shoulders of a soldier's uniform) denote which unit the Rangers deployed with. They would have been kept as trophies.

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	6. Chapter 6

Once again, for old times' sake: I own NOTHING. Really. I'm in debt up to my eyeballs. If I had any rights to a hit TV series like Numb3rs, I would own...well..._something_. Thanks to the wonderful people at CBS who share their toys so well, though!

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"There was nothing we could do, you know?" asked Colby, finally meeting the FBI team's eyes. "We couldn't carry those guys, couldn't even get to most of them. We had to keep the living alive and hope the Talibs would leave the dead alone until a team could recover them."

Smitty raised his glass. "And thanks to whatever God or Gods convinced the Talibs to stay clear 'cause six days later, those men were on their way back to their families." Colby raised his glass to clink against Smitty's, and was startled and pleased to see that his friends had all done so as well. Colonel Alero had been the commanding officer who'd led him into Afghanistan, and though he'd been a hard A__ sometimes, the guy was good to the people under his command. Usually a Colonel wouldn't have even talked to a Specialist, but Alero had known Colby's first name, the names of his brothers, and what he wanted to do 'after.' Colby had even asked the man for a letter of recommendation for the Bureau, but Alero had never finished it. Colby was more than glad when the recovery team had found Alero and the others in no worse condition than they'd been left.

"So, OK, um, where were we?" Granger shook his head to clear it. He looked down to see his glass was full again. When had that happened? "OK, yeah, the 'copter. So, we headed downhill, toward where we figured there was a road…"

_Smith had found a map in Captain Lerg's cargo pocket. Though Sgt Osterman tried, however, he could not make out where the group actually was. One mountain looked pretty much like every other to them. Their best bet, as Granger had said, was simply to work their way downhill toward less-steep landscape, with the hope that they'd be able to avoid the locals long enough to be found by either the American or British army. Before leaving the helicopter, Osterman wrote a note to anyone who might find it, letting them know the group's plan. The Afghanis in these remote mountains were unlikely to be able to read, even in their own language, so the danger presented by leaving the message was slight._

_Jeeter led off as the party picked their way carefully down the mountain in single file. After Jeeter came Rodriguez, limping slowly and carrying her big gun. The blood on her pant leg had dried to a black, hard mass which clung to her injured leg. Next came Granger, carrying Smitty on his shoulders, as he was still unable to handle a weapon. Following Granger was Doc Smith, who dragged Cpt Lerg on a litter behind her. They'd discussed having another of the party carry the other end of the litter, but had decided it was more important that every good shooter put their attention on the group's surroundings. Sgt Osterman came at the end of the line, watching for anyone who might be following the soldiers. They made a wide circle to avoid the area occupied the night before by the Talib militia. No one wanted to risk tripping a booby trap. _

_Granger could feel Smitty's heart beating against his shoulder. It was the only sign that the man remained alive. Granger would always remember the feel and smell of Smitty's blood running down under his flak vest. Some things just stay with you. _

"I never properly thanked you for that, by the way," slurred Smitty. "I was OUT. You coulda just left me 'n Lerg. So thanks."

"How much of this stuff have u had, man? Ur DRUNK." Colby blearily looked at the bottle, now much closer to empty. "Me too, I guess."

"Ya think?" put in David. "I don't think I've ever seen you drink so much. So did you get off the mountain OK? I mean, you obviously survived this little adventure, but when did the Army find you?"

Smitty answered immediately. "Three days. This guy carried me for three days. Crazy SOB."

_The first day, the soldiers made slow progress. The area was very steep, and covered in thousands of loose rocks and deep holes seemingly made to break travelers' legs. Despite the bitter cold, the team quickly found themselves sweating under their flak vests and heavy loads. Doc Smith had to stop often to wrestle Lerg's litter over a particularly wide crevasse or large boulder, often with the help of one or more of the Rangers. They ate little and drank almost nothing, trying to make their meager supplies last. Over time, Rodriguez's limp became more pronounced, and bright red blood started to drip over her boot. She made no complaint. Late that evening, the group stumbled upon a small cave, where they huddled against the cold until morning. They even managed to each get some sleep, succumbing to exhaustion borne of two day's exertion and a sleepless night previous. _

_They were awoken just as the sun lit the eastern face of the mountain by voices shouting in Pashto somewhere above them. Granger didn't even pause. "S__t. OK, Osterman, you and me need to go see where those guys are. Jeeter, Rodriguez, you stay here, keep an eye on Smith and Lerg. Doc, I want you to stand where you can see us—carefully—and let the others know what's going on." He grabbed a flashlight. "If you see a red light, get back inside and get everyone moving. If you see a yellow light, sit tight. We're on our way back." He picked up Doc's M9, painfully but successfully squeezing his left index finger inside the trigger guard. "I get to learn to shoot lefty!"_

_Osterman laughed wryly. "If the REMF starts shooting a little M9 pistol—lefty—don't wait for a red light. That's a clear signal that things have gone SNAFU right there."_

_Doc Smith, Osterman and Granger slid quietly out of the cavern. Doc found a small space just uphill and settled down to watch the others. They moved carefully, and in the in the dim half-light of the dawn, wearing camouflage, the two soldiers soon became very difficult to see against the mottled rocky surface of the mountainside. _

_By unspoken agreement, Osterman took the lead. The two soldiers made their way slowly toward a confused babble of voices somewhere above and to their left. After a time, a rasp and crash, followed by an indignant shouting, caused them to drop to the ground. Osterman signaled Granger to stay where he was, then slithered forward on his belly. Granger took out the flashlight, affixing the red filter over the lens. He waited._

_Osterman made his way carefully toward the voices. One seemed to be screaming in fear, the other in anger. The rasping sound came again, and the fearful screaming increased. Osterman peered over a rock to see he'd come to the edge of a steep path worn into the side of the hill. On the path stood two men and the battered remains of a large hand-cart. One wheel had come off the cart and one of the men held that side awkwardly, barely keeping the contents from emptying and being lost forever over a steep cliff. The other man held the cart's pull-bar, keeping it from rolling over completely and escaping completely over the hill. The rasping sound came again as the second man's sandals slid on the gravel of the path and the cart tipped further. The man holding it upright screamed again. A small boy, whom Osterman had not seen at first, scrambled up the path from below him, crying out in Pashto. The men hailed him, and he promptly ran to them and began hurriedly and carefully removing objects from the cart. The rasping sound came again, followed by a crash as some of the men's possessions tipped out of the cart and rolled down the steep slope. Man one shrieked, looked up, and noticed Osterman lying beside the path. _

_Their eyes met briefly. Osterman froze. Man one stuttered, and then shouted in Pashto. Man two yelled back, looked toward Osterman, and then the boy. Osterman followed Man two's eyes to see the boy, holding an ancient AK47, pointed with credible steadiness at the soldier. Neither man could let his burden go, but the boy looked fully capable of finishing Osterman without their help. And Osterman couldn't bring himself to harm a child. _

_Granger saw Osterman stand slowly, his hands at his side. Though Osterman's M16 hung from a sling around the man's neck, Granger saw that Osterman made no attempt to aim the rifle. He rose to a crouch and started toward the Sergeant. Before long, he had sized up the situation; the two men with their cart, the boy with his gun, and Osterman speaking softly, reassuringly. "…not going to do anything. We just want to go down the hill. We aren't interested in hurting you or anyone else. Hero where the Hell are you. If you let us, we'll just walk away. We don't want to take your stuff. Hero I need your help…"_

_Granger circled to the right, then emerged from cover behind the Afghanis. He brought the M9 up with his left hand and calmly said "Drop the gun." The boy jumped, but luckily didn't fire his weapon. He swung around to find the new threat, and Granger saw the boy's eyes. He was scared. Probably more scared than the soldiers were. Osterman took that moment to close the distance between himself and the boy, then removed the AK from the boy's hands so quickly that Granger could barely follow the movements. Man two shouted, dropping the cart's handle and moving to protect what was obviously more important—his son. Man one yelled as the cart's full weight shifted to his shoulders and he began slipping, spilling the men's possessions on the ground. Granger grabbed for the handle without thinking. The cart steadied._

_Osterman pulled the rifle out of the boy's hands and immediately tried to remove any rounds from the AK's chamber. There weren't any. He grunted, looking at Granger. "It's not loaded!"_

_Man two reached for his son, pulled the boy toward the cart and shouted again, this time at Osterman. Osterman assessed the situation—Granger and man one holding the cart, man two and the boy backing away from him, obviously terrified. He lowered the AK to the ground, then stood, his hands in front of him, the M16 still slung around his neck. "It's OK. We don't really want to hurt you." The Afghanis didn't understand a word. "Hero, give the nice man back his cart."_

"_I don't think I can do that." Granger grunted. "D___ thing's heavy. I think you need to take some stuff out, like the kid was doing. These guys had it right."_

_Osterman nodded, then slowly circled to the cart. It was loaded with pottery, rugs and straw. The men had been taking handicrafts down the mountain, probably to sell in a market below. Osterman reached into the cart and carefully removed a pot. Placing it on the ground, he removed another, then another. There was a rasping sound as Granger's boots slid on the path, and man one screamed again. Man two yelled to him, man one answered rapidly, and man two pulled the boy after him as he went to help man one hold up the cart. Granger felt a distinct lightening of the load as the Afghanis propped the cart up. Osterman began to remove pottery more quickly. The boy watched the process from his father's side, warily guarding the two men from anything these strangers might do. Before long, the pottery had been removed from the cart and it was light enough that the men were able to push it to a flatter space. Granger thankfully dropped the cart's handle and the soldiers backed away. The men considered this._

"_Darawem." Man two said, his hands out in the universal 'stop' signal. "Darawem." The soldiers stopped. Granger's hand tightened on the pistol. The man backed to the pile of pottery. "Suhker. Suhker." He picked up a small vase, stepped warily over to Granger and handed it to him. "Suhker." He gestured to the cart._

"_Um. You're welcome." _

_Osterman thought a moment, then produced the map. He pointed to the map, and then to the ground. "Where?" He pointed back to the map. _

_The man looked at the map and then at Osterman. He took the map. Studying it for a moment, the man looked around them, then pointed to a spot on the page. "Halta." He handed the paper back to Osterman and walked away. Though he had decided that the soldiers weren't planning to hurt him, he'd also obviously decided that they'd risked enough by telling the Americans what they had. _

_Osterman studied the map, and then their surroundings. He smiled. "Suhker." He looked at Granger. "Let's get back to the others."_

"You still got that pot Hero?" asked Smitty, looking about the living room.

Colby pushed himself out of his chair and walked to a shelf next to the TV. "Of course. Weirdest moment of my life. I'll never forget it." He passed the pot to Nikki, who studied it.

It was about 6 inches tall, with a broad base and narrow top. A geometric design painted on the side suggested, more than showed, mountains and birds. The design framed a line of script written in dark green. "What does it say?"

"It's a line from the Koran. Some poetry about a girl with blue eyes. I got it translated once, but I don't remember it exactly."

Nikki passed the vase to Charlie who commented "It's in Arabic—not Pashto."

"Yeah. The Koran's always in Arabic. Probably the guys we met couldn't even read it, just copied it out of the book."

"It's beautiful."

"Yeah."

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Military to Civilian (and Pashto to English) glossary:

SNAFU: Situation Normal, All F___ed Up.

Darawem: Stop

Suhker: Thanks, thank you

Halta: There

I'm not trying to be nasty when I insist that the Afghanis the party meets are illiterate. Afghanistan's literacy rate is about 16%, and in the rural areas, comes pretty close to 0%. The likelihood is that any grown Afghan men in the region may have gone to school, likely a religious school, for three or four years when they were little, but nothing since then. If they read at all, it's likely that they read Koranic Arabic. This is slowly changing in the youngest generation.

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	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer:

Colby, Charlie, Don, David + Nikki=not mine.

Smitty, Osterman, Smith, Lerg, Jeeter + Rodriguez=mine

not mine + mine = fun for a writer like me!

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_Granger unscrewed the red lens from the flashlight and affixed the yellow as he and Osterman made their way, crouching, back to the cave. He flashed the light twice. It was barely visible against the quickly lightening sky. Smith sighed in relief at the positive news before returning to her patients. Before long, the entire group was tucked inside the cave, gathered around the map._

"_We're here." Osterman pointed to the spot indicated by the grateful Afghani._

_Granger thought, and then pointed to a large village marked on the map near the base of the mountain. "And those guys were probably headed here. It has water from this river and what looks like a road on the map." There was a general chuckle after this statement. Outside of Kabul, 'roads' on maps in Afghanistan seldom turned out to be more than one-lane dirt tracks in reality. Still, humvees handle dirt tracks very well. "My bet is that in a town with water, a road and visitors, someone down there will have a cell phone."_

_Jeeter stared at him. "And they're just gonna let us use it? Who're we gonna call with an Afghani cell phone, anyway?"_

"_We'll get to who we're going to call after we have the phone." _

Colby looked, sheepishly, at the FBI team and Smitty. "Truth be told, I hadn't thought any further than 'Get Cell Phone.' I was 24 years old and kind of winging this whole command thing."

"You were doing fine, so far as we could tell." Laughed Smitty. "Anyway, those guys were really impressed, or so they told me later."

"Yeah, Colby," inserted Don, "we may have found an un-tested part of your personality here. Maybe David and I can both take off one day. Leave you in charge."

Colby turned a little green "No. That's just fine. I'm happy to follow your lead. Really."

David laughed. "That was quick."

Charlie agreed. "It's just because he doesn't understand the math."

Smitty asked "Math?"

"Yeah. Didn't you know?" Asked Nikki, "Crime solving is all about math. I thought everyone knew that. And Colby's grip on the math is not so good."

"Yeah. OK. Enough beating on me. I want to get this story told so I can go pass out and get started on tomorrow's hangover."

"Wait." Interjected Charlie, "Villagers in Afghanistan have cell phones?"

"Actually, yeah." Replied Smitty. "Everyone on the planet seems to have cell phones these days. Even in some of the remotest places my Ranger team got to, some village leader had a phone to call other leaders or, if they had one, a clinic. Problem wasn't that there were no phones. Problem was, these were civilian, Afghani phones. They don't interface with the military phone system. No way to call our base from their phones. Other problem was finding the d___ed things. You see, before the war, every village elder had one—like a status symbol, you know? But once the war started, the Americans could track Talibs by the phones, so the Talibs got rid of theirs, and then if they found a guy with one they'd figure the guy was on our side—so they took it away and killed the guy. Us and the Brits give 'em to friendly village leaders, and doctors at the clinics we build, too, and the Talibs take those, too. So there were phones out there, but people who had 'em didn't exactly advertise it."

"You're getting ahead of the story, man." Grumped Colby.

"Oh, look who wants to tell the story now." Teased Smitty. "I thought you didn't want to talk about it?"

"Shut up."

"Shutting up." Smitty grinned, picked up a handful of chips, and sat back to watch the show. He looked smug.

_The party began its slow decent toward the village marked on the map. Exhaustion and lack of food were beginning to take their toll, meaning slower progress and more trips and falls than had happened the day before. After Rodriguez had a particularly hard fall, caused by stepping on yet another small rock, Doc Smith called a halt to inspect the woman's leg. When she lifted Rodriguez's pant leg, there was a pause._

"_Why didn't you tell me this was getting so bad?" _

"_There's nothing you can do for it anyway. It's just a cut. Not like it's broken or anything."_

"_This 'just a cut' is badly infected." She pulled some pills out of her med bag. "I've got antibiotic pills—meant to give them to villagers with TB—but I don't know if they'll work now. This is really bad." She looked angrily around the group. "Does anyone else have some little cut or scrape they aren't telling me about? ANYONE?" The men around her blinked and backed off a bit. There were mumbled "no ma'am's" from the group. Doc Smith returned to looking at Rodriguez's injured leg. "D___ed soldiers think they can just 'walk it off.' No respect for their own bodies." She carefully washed off the layer of grime and pus which had hardened around Rodriguez's wound with some of the group's precious clean water. "This will have to do for now. You TELL me if it starts getting red streaks or if you feel like you're getting a fever."_

"_Yes ma'am." _

"I never saw her that mad before or since. She was PISSED." Laughed Colby. "Rodriguez was really strong, though. She toughed it out all the way to that village. Don't know how."

"She's tough alright…" mumbled Smitty.

_They reached the 'road'—the expected rut-filled, one lane track—just before dark on the second day, and took cover about fifty feet uphill from it, where they could observe without being seen. A surprising number of Afghani men passed in one direction or the other, most bearing large packs or pulling hand carts laden with trade goods. A small minority led donkeys or mules, similarly laden, or herded sheep or goats toward the village._

_Doc Smith called it first. "Market day?"_

_Osterman nodded. "That's where our friends must have been headed. Taking all those pots to sell." He looked to Granger. "OK, Hero, what's the move?"_

"_For now, we wait. I'm betting no one's on the road after dark, and by my figuring, that's not long from now." He looked down at Smitty and Lerg, lying on the ground. "Doc, you think you can look after these guys while the rest of us see if we can find a phone?"_

_Doc Smith nodded. "Yeah, but leave Rodriguez here. She shouldn't be walking very far anyway, and we might need her." Rodriguez started to protest, but Granger cut her off._

"_This isn't a democracy, Rodriguez. The Captain gave you an order."_

_Osterman started to laugh. "Yeah. The CAPTAIN gave you an order. And so did the SPECIALIST. Oh, stop blushing Hero. You're doing fine."_

David reached out and pinched Colby's cheek. "But you blush so pretty, man! Who ever could resist those baby-waby cheeks all pink?" Colby slapped his hand away, then ducked his head in a failed attempt to hide yet another blush. "See?" asked David, "Sooooo cute!"

"I gotta tell ya," responded Smitty, "Osterman would have followed Hero anywhere by this point. I think any of us would have. I barely remember any of those three days, but every time I woke up, Hero was there. And that night, we needed him thinking like a leader, not like some lowly Specialist, 'cause that night got BAD."

_Smitty woke slowly to the sound of low talking. It was dark and cold again, and he wished he'd stayed asleep. He turned his head and found Cpt Lerg lying on a battered litter beside him. The man was babbling incoherently. Doc Smith knelt beside Lerg, talking in a low voice and trying to encourage the Captain to drink some water. "How's he doin', ma'am?" He croaked._

_The PA looked at him. "Hello, Smitty, good to see you back with us." She moved over to him to share some of the water. "Drink some of this. We're taking a bit of a rest here." She glanced at Cpt Lerg, worriedly. "Lerg's as well as he can be, I guess. We really need medivac. For him and for you. And Rodriguez, too."_

_Smitty looked at his surroundings, taking in the dark, the cold, and the company. He, Rodriguez, Smith and Lerg were alone. "Where are the others?"_

"_They just left. They'll be right back." But she didn't look so sure of that._

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Military to Civilian Glossary:

OK, wow, I got all the way to the end without more jargon. Cool. No Glossary today!


	8. Chapter 8

Yeah--Numb3rs is still not mine. Wish it was.

I thought Chapter 7 was kind of slow, so I figured I'd upload Chapter 8 as soon as I woke up this morning.

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Chapter 8

"See, the problem was," started Smitty, "that…"

"The problem is," replied Colby, "that you keep interrupting me. Now where was I?"

"Ignore him." Said David. "What was the problem?"

"They like me better 'n you." Said Smitty, a silly grin on his face. He 'ahem'ed' dramatically. "The reason Doc was so upset was that, about thirty seconds after Hero and his minions left, the shooting started. We didn't know it at the time, but the shooting was actually the locals celebrating—shooting in the air, not shooting at the stupid Americans who'd come to use the phone. All we knew was that the guys left and the shooting started. Musta scared the S___ outta Hero, right?"

"Right. Scared the s___ out of all of us. We'd just gotten to the edge of the village, right where the road met the first houses, when all H___ broke loose. There must have been fifty rifles shooting."

_The soldiers dove for cover in the ditch at the side of the road. "Jeeter! Where the f___ are they?" screamed Osterman, wildly searching for the army that was obviously bearing down on them. "Anyone hurt? Anyone hit?"_

"_I can't see a d___ed thing!" replied Jeeter. "There's no one out there!"_

"_Then what the H___ are they shooting at?"_

_The small group listened for a moment for the 'zszinnng' of bullets rebounding off of rock, looking carefully around for the tell-tale puffs of dirt which would tell them where the shots were coming from. No such sounds or sights were apparent. Abruptly, the shooting just…stopped. The men heard shouting and laughter. Granger looked at his companions and shrugged silently, then motioned for them to follow as he crept on his belly around the edge of the first house. At the corner, he froze. In front of the house was a large group of men—fifty at least—holding all manner of rifle and pistol aloft. They shouted and laughed, jostling each other to reach the front of the crowd. All wanted to be closest to the reason for their jubilation. In the road, tied to the back of a decrepit, ancient donkey led by a well-armed Afghani, was a man. The man had red hair and freckles, and wore a burned and torn American uniform and a grimace of pain. His shoulder patch identified him as being from the same National Guard unit as Rodriguez worked for. The Afghanis hadn't left that night on the mountain because they were cold. They left because they'd found what they'd been looking for. They had an American Prisoner. _

_Granger slowly backed away from the corner and crawled back to the ditch. Osterman and Jeeter followed, silent until they reached Granger. Then Osterman whispered "What is it?" Granger explained. Osterman and Jeeter took in the information. "And we're going to stage a heroic rescue, right?" asked Osterman, who already knew the answer. _

"_We can't just leave him. They'll cut his head off!" Started Granger in an indignant whisper._

_Osterman waved a placating hand. "Relax, Hero. I'm not saying it's a bad idea. But just how do you think three people are going to do anything about it?"_

"_You're right. We'll need at least four. Let's go." And he led them back to where the others were waiting. _

_Granger explained the problem. "That's Staff Sergeant McQuaid." Stated Rodriguez, looking surprised. "He was one of the other gunners on our 'copter. How the H___ did he survive that crash? His compartment was crushed!"_

"_I don't know how he lived," responded Granger, "but I'm pretty sure how he got out of the wreck. McQuaid must have been what those Afghanis were after when they looted the 'copter that first night. I'm betting he's worth an awful lot to the Talibs, but I'm also betting he's worth more alive than dead. We can use that." The others nodded, thinking without mentioning it of grainy television coverage of previous Taliban and Al Qaeda prisoners. Granger went on to explain with the plan he'd formulated in the ten minutes since seeing the American. The others mostly nodded their heads, adding suggestions here and there. In an hour, the group was ready._

"I gotta tell you," interrupted Smitty, "the hardest part of that whole time for me was watching y'all leave out of there that night. I couldn't go with y'all, and I wanted to. I felt like…you know…useless or something. And I don't do useless too well."

Colby nodded. "I know the problem. I don't take well to sitting on the sidelines when stuff is happening either."

Charlie laughed wryly. "So now you understand how I feel when I send you out to, I don't know…rescue Amita or something…and I can't do anything? It's enough to make me crazy!"

"Oh, you think that's what's made you crazy, Chuck?" added Don. "'Cause I've known you for a LONG time, and I don't think that's it…" he was cut off by a pillow thrown with deadly accuracy at his head.

"OK Hero." Decided Smitty. "I approve of your friends. You fit right in with this group. But, back on the side of a mountain…" The FBI agents laughed.

_Smitty was left to watch Captain Lerg, the machine gun and the team's meager supplies while all reasonably able-bodied team members made their slow way back to the village. It wasn't a good solution, but no good solutions were available just then. They needed every hand they had and then some. Lerg had stopped babbling, and lay silently on the ground. Smitty lay next to the .50 cal and watched the road. He gripped consciousness with everything he had._

_The five men and women who could do so crept once more along the roadside ditch. They approached the village, then circled downhill toward the river. If this village had a clinic, it would be near the water. If the Afghanis wanted their prisoner alive, he was probably in need of a clinic. The group held onto the hope that the Afghanis wanted the American gunner alive when they turned him over to whoever bid highest for the man. Upon reaching the river, the group split in two. Osterman and Rodriguez waited by the near side of the first houses while Granger, Jeeter and Doc Smith crawled forward on their bellies. They all heard men's laughter in the village street behind the buildings, but no shouts which would indicate their discovery._

_Near the center of the collection of houses along the river was a sprawling, one-story mud brick building. Electric lights shone behind screened windows, kept running by a diesel generator marked 'USAID: A gift from the American People." This, then, was the clinic, built by US contractors as part of the 'win hearts and minds (WHAM)" campaign begun early on in the war. At one time, this village must have been friendly to the US cause. Probably suffered for it, too, thought Granger. _

_He signaled Rodriguez to remain behind the generator as he and Jeeter crept cautiously forward. They slipped up to the building and Granger peeked one eye above the edge of the lighted window sill. The room was occupied, but not by a red-haired American. An Afghan woman, very pregnant, laughed with several young girls and a grey-haired midwife. Granger dropped back down and moved to the next window. The second room was dark and empty. They moved again until they reached the corner of the building, where it met a walled courtyard. Granger sized up the young man beside him, then decided that Jeeter was almost a foot taller than himself. He signaled the other man to peek over the wall. Jeeter did so, and quickly ducked back. He nodded, then held up one finger of his right hand. The four fingers of the other hand were extended and Jeeter stretched his arms out to half their lengths. The American was on one side of the courtyard, with four Afghanis on the other. The Afghanis were closer. They signaled to Rodriguez, who passed the signal to Osterman and Smith; one flash of a laser pointer, carefully aimed. The soldiers moved forward to where Rodriguez waited. The generator was loud enough to cover the soldier's voices as Jeeter explained what he had found._

_Rodriguez once again waited by the generator as the team moved to where Jeeter and Granger had seen McQuaid. Unable to climb the wall with her wounded leg, she would watch for indications that they'd been discovered and if necessary cover the group's escape. They left Doc Smith at the wall behind the courtyard. Osterman quietly removed the screen from the empty room's window and slipped in. He made almost no sound. Jeeter and Granger, again crawling on their bellies, made agonizingly slow progress around the corner of the courtyard and toward the gate. In the first, occupied, room the pregnant woman yelled. Granger jumped, then smiled. A baby was a good omen. Besides, the woman's shouts during her labor pains would hide the noise they were about to make. It was an ugly thought, but true. _

_The courtyard's side gate was closed and guarded by a man with a surprisingly new-looking AK47. 'This one' thought Granger 'is definitely loaded.' The soldiers paused behind the trash piled against the courtyard wall, gathering themselves. Granger held up three fingers…two…one. Jeeter stood with a quickness that surprised Granger, putting his arm around the guard's neck and bringing his field knife to the man's throat and thrusting in and up. The man dropped like a stone._

_Granger tried not to look at Jeeter's victim as he slung the guard's rifle across his own shoulders. The AK might prove useful to someone in the party. He cracked the door open a bit to peek into the courtyard. The situation was much as Jeeter had described it; McQuaid was lying against one wall, asleep or unconscious, his hands tied behind his back and a rope around his neck. Four Afghanis squatted facing him and talking, their backs against the wall behind which Doc Smith waited. All were armed. Granger held his breath, waiting for the signal from Osterman._

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Today's Jargon translator!

USAID: The US Agency for International Development, like Canada's CIDA, Japan's JICA or Britain's DFID, this agency's mission is to promote achievement of development goals, like implementation of sustainable agriculture or provision of basic health care, in developing countries. Sort of but not really part of the State Department (it's complicated).

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	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I was, am, and remain thankful to both the creators of Numb3rs, who created and own fascinating characters; and to the men and women of our military for letting me play in their sandbox. Between the two, my stories are practically written for me.

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Chapter 9

"So, I gotta ask." Said Nikki, pausing the story. "Why not just leave McQuaid, get the phone, call for help, and let the cavalry ride to McQuaid's rescue?"

"Two reasons." Replied Colby immediately. "One, we weren't at all sure we were going to be able to find the phone, but we knew we couldn't leave a soldier there alone; and two, even if we did get the cell phone, we didn't know how long it would take for the cavalry to arrive. We couldn't risk it taking too long and McQuaid getting killed while we waited."

"And three," interjected Smitty, "I know you haven't missed Hero's well-developed sense of knight-in-shiny-armor-ness. No way he's lost that!"

"No. Nah-ah." Smiled David. "That, he'll never lose, despite all the people who keep trying to beat it out of him."

"I do not think I'm a knight in shining armor!"

"Yeah, Granger," replied Nikki, "you do. But it's OK, we figure it's the Idaho thing. We've just learned to duck when you really get going."

"And put our fingers in our ears to muffle the explosions." Added Don.

"Well, knight or not, that night, the crazy hero-types were the Rangers." Colby shook his head in genuine astonishment. "I've never seen anyone more efficient about taking people out of the fight, except for maybe Nikki's spooky boyfriend."

Don lifted an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure you don't want to call Edgerton that where he can hear it."

Colby nodded. "I'm pretty sure you're right."

_Osterman made his way through the darkened room of the clinic, feeling for a door. The room let out into hallway, lit dimly by a single bulb at the far end. The hallway was empty. From the next room, Osterman could hear sounds which reminded him all to much of the birth of his own twin daughters, now two years old and half a world away. He silently prayed for his girls and for the baby being born as he slipped across the hall and through an open door. This room was large and unlit, but occupied by one woman, sleeping in a bed on the far side. Osterman crossed the room and placed a hand over the woman's mouth. She awoke with a start, her eyes wide. _

"Now, I have to tell you just how bad this was for the woman." Colby explained. "In Afghan culture, for an unrelated man to even be in a woman's sleeping room, it's…just…WRONG. Not a little wrong. A lot wrong. And here's this armed American man, and he's actually TOUCHING her. She must have been mortified. But she also had been living in a war zone for a while. She knew a weapon when she saw one, and she knew better than to upset the guy with the gun."

_Osterman held one hand over the woman's mouth and signaled her to be quiet with the other, then hefted his rifle for emphasis. She nodded fearfully. When he removed his hand, the woman ran to a corner of the room, covering herself with a blanket. She was crying, but she was doing it quietly. That would have to do. Osterman went to the window and twitched aside the heavy curtain to peer out. As he expected, the window looked out onto the courtyard, directly across from the door. Osterman used his knife to slowly cut away the window screen, checked the position of the Afghan men in the courtyard, and flashed his laser pointer once, quickly, against the window's sill so it could be seen by Granger and Jeeter but not by the Afghan men._

_Granger and Jeeter had waited silently for almost a full minute before seeing a quick flash of the laser pointer through one window on the courtyard. After a slow count to ten, all three soldiers entered the courtyard, their rifles aimed at the Afghanis. The men were caught unprepared, their rifles on their laps or on the ground beside them. They put their hands over their heads. Granger stepped forward, cautiously, and removed the Afghan men's weapons, passing them over the wall to Doc Smith. Then he went to McQuaid, who was awake, smiling and crying at the same time. _

"_Where the H___ did you all come from?"_

_Granger put his finger to his lips. "Can you walk?" He asked, cutting the man's bindings. McQuaid's uniform was more than just torn. It was burnt away in several places, and raw red and blackened skin showed through the holes._

"_Sort of." He staggered to his feet. "A little, anyway."_

"_I need you to go over that wall. Can you?"_

_McQuaid looked doubtful. "I can try. Then where?"_

"_There's a doc on the other side. She'll get you where you need to go."_

"_She? You brought a woman here?"_

"_Yeah. And you'll listen to her if you want to get out of here."_

_One of the Afghan men stepped forward. "Americans?"_

_Jeeter answered, shoving the man back against the wall. "Yes. Americans. Now shut up." The Afghani shoved back, opening his mouth to sound an alarm. Jeeter hit the man in the side of the head with his rifle butt. The Afghani dropped, unconscious. "Hero, if we're going to get him out of here, we gotta do it now."_

_Granger helped the injured National Guardsman to the wall, where he and Osterman helped to lift him from one side while Doc Smith levered him over from the other. Next, Osterman, Granger and Jeeter used the men's clothing to tie the Afghanis' hands, gagged them, and then roped them together. They'd be able to free themselves reasonably quickly, but if the group wasn't gone by then, it'd all be over anyway. _

_The three men went back through Osterman's window. The woman was gone. S___. Time for more speed. Hopefully, Doc Smith and McQuaid were already headed back out of the village. Jeeter went to the door of the room, opened it, and moved into the hallway. Granger and then Osterman followed. The sounds from the birthing room had changed. Happy laughter mixed with a child's high-pitched wail. The noise did, indeed, cover the soldiers' progress down the hall. At the end of the corridor, lit by the single bulb, was a left turn to another hallway. Along it were three doors. The first was locked. Probably a store room. The second door was closed, with a light glowing from the crack at the bottom. For now, the men passed that door, preferring to avoid people if possible. The third door led to a small examining room, empty at this time of night. The men searched it, but were unsurprised to not find the clinic's phone there. The hallway let out into a large waiting area, separated into two curtained halves so that women could wait separately from the men. To one side was the room they were looking for—the doctor's private office. The door was closed, and once again a light shone beneath it. _

_Granger signaled Jeeter //you-watch-hallway// and then Osterman //you-left of-door// and moved to the right side of the door. Osterman and Jeeter took their assigned places. Granger raised the M9 pistol, still in his left hand, and counted down once more. Three…two…one. He kicked in the door, bringing the pistol up and pointing it directly at the doctor. The man was speaking into the cell phone they'd come to find. When he saw the soldiers, he yelled into the phone and out the window, looking panicked, before putting his hands in the air. Granger crossed the room in one step and grabbed the phone, cutting the connection. Too late. Shouts from the front of the building were echoed by more from the men they'd left in the courtyard. Without a moment's thought, the soldiers turned and ran for the back of the clinic._

"You know, I'd never been really scared before that little walk we took." Colby said, musingly. "Really. Never before. But I d___ed near pee'd my pants right at that moment." He looked at his friends, and found them staring back at him. Charlie's mouth hung open. "What? I obviously got out of there. I'm telling you the story, aren't I?"

"You are one crazy son of a b____." Nikki said in a low voice. "You know that, right?"

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	10. Chapter 10

Once again, I don't own any of the Numb3rs characters or situations. I do, with probably more pride than they're worth, claim Smitty, Rodriguez, Osterman, Jeeter, Doc Smith and (now) McQuaid. Major DG and Commander Roberts are patterned after real people, though I can rightfully lay claim to one of them...sort of...'cause I'm married to him!

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Chapter 10

_Shouts chased the soldiers down the hallway, where they ran over _"Literally ran over; knocked her right down" supplied Colby_ the woman that Osterman had seen earlier as she emerged from the middle door they'd passed over on their way in. Shouts responded from the direction of the room they'd used to come in from the courtyard. The men they'd tied up must be loose. Osterman made a split second decision not to continue down the hallway. Grabbing the doorknob, he pushed open the door to the birthing room. The three soldiers barreled through the room as the women within shrieked in fear and anger. Osterman flung his body against the window screen, tearing it open and tumbling head over heels out after it. The others jumped out behind him._

_The first sounds of gunfire rang out as the three men reached Rodriguez, still sitting behind the generator. She returned fire, then shouted as they joined her. "Doc and McQuaid are gone already! Let's go!" As she tried to put her own words into action, though, her leg simply wouldn't let her keep up. Granger and Osterman resorted to scooping her up, one on each side and her feet dangling nine inches off the ground. Her M16 clattered to the ground. It would make a good trade for the AK Granger had taken and still carried._

_The Afghani's shouts told the soldiers that they had found the pile of weapons Doc had left behind the clinic, and then that the men had begun a search on the side of the river. The three soldiers' helter-skelter run slowed, Granger, Osterman and Rodriguez now more concerned with moving quietly than with outrunning their pursuers. The locals knew the ground. Better not to be found. The sound of weapons fire became sporadic when the local men realized they couldn't find anything to shoot at. Granger and the others continued moving as quickly as silence would allow, away from the river in the shadows of huts and houses until they reached where the road entered the village and then once more dropped into what they were beginning to think of as 'their' ditch. Then they crawled. And crawled. Even shouts soon faded behind as the villagers regrouped to figure out what had happened. And still the soldiers crawled._

"In basic training," stated Colby, "you learn two kinds of crawl; low crawl and high crawl. High crawl is basically what you do when you're a baby. Hands and knees. It's pretty fast, but you make a good target with your head and butt in the air like that. Low crawl is what we were doing all over that stupid mountain. It's not really crawling. It's pushing yourself like a worm on your belly. Your head and belly and arms and legs are all flat on the ground and you just push yourself and pull yourself forward. It takes forEVER to get anywhere, and you tear yourself to pieces on the rocks and sticks and stuff on the ground, but you do it right, at night in camouflage, and no-one can see you to shoot you. So we low-crawled the whole way back to Smitty and Doc and Lerg. We were out there for like two hours. It sucked."

_More than three hours after they'd left, the soldiers gathered once again on their bluff overlooking the road. They could hear the voices and see flashlights as villagers searched along the river and the immediate area surrounding their village. Granger's suggestion that the group move further away from the road met with no objections. Once again, the wounded were carried as the group moved on—this time back up the mountain._

_Granger remained behind long enough to use the village's cell tower and place a call. _

"So who did you call, man?" David asked.

"Information."

"What?" Don smiled, "Information where?"

"Charlie? You tell 'em. 703-555-1212. Country code 001."

The reply was immediate. "Northern Virginia. I'm betting Arlington, Virginia."

"Why Arlington, Virginia?" asked Nikki.

Charlie smirked. "Because the Pentagon is in Arlington Virginia."

Colby grinned back. "Yup. And you say I don't get the numbers. Ha! I called information and asked for the number to the Pentagon switchboard. They transferred me and I spoke to a very nice, but very confused, switchboard officer, who I asked to transfer me to, and I quote 'any one who knows what the h___'s going on in Afghanistan.' The Major I spoke to there figured out who I was REAL fast."

"_Major DG, this line is unsecure. How can I help you sir or ma'am?"_

"_Sir, my name is Specialist Colby Granger, and I'm calling from Afghanistan. I was in the…"_

"_I know who you are. You're one of those guys who's all over the D___ news." There was a pause. Granger heard mumbling and was just able to hear the words "Way over my pay grade." The voice came back on the line. "Hold on. Can you hold on?"_

"_Yes sir."_

_There were muffled shouts from the other end of the phone, some of which were even mentionable in mixed company. After two very long minutes, during which Granger watched as pairs of men began to carefully start to move out of the village and down the road, a new voice came on the line. "Specialist Granger? This is Commander Roberts of SOCOM. I need you to hold on the line. We've got some questions we need you to answer. In the meantime, where are you and who is with you?" Granger quickly ran down the names and gave their approximate location grid on the map Lerg had carried. He pulled his uniform jacket up to mask the cell phone's glow. "How did you call here? This isn't a DSN connection, not where you are."_

"_We stole a phone, sir."_

"_Uh huh." The Commander thought about that. "Why are you calling, not Captain Lerg or Sgt Osterman?"_

"_Long story, sir. Um, sir, I need to go. The people whose phone this is…"_

"_I know son. I just need you to answer three questions so I can be sure who you are. Ready? What was your first pet's name?"_

"_Snowflake. She was a little white cat."_

"_What color was your first car?"_

"_Silver."_

"_What street did you grow up on?"_

"_Irving Street."_

"_Find someplace safe son. We're coming to get you."_

"Snowflake? Really?" David laughed. "You had a wittle kitty named Snowflake? Awwwww." Colby punched him.

"I was four! I wasn't the cultured gentleman you see before you now." Everyone laughed at that.

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Military to Civilian Glossary du jour:

SOCOM: Special Operations Command. The only group who make Rangers jealous (nt that they'd admit it). Before any of my more military-minded readers yell at me, yes, I know SOCOM is not actually based out of the Pentagon. But I'm willing to bet they've got representation there.

Commander: A rank we haven't mentioned yet? Yup. This is a Navy rank, equivalent to Lieutenant Colonel in the Army scales I gave you in chapter 1. SOCOM includes representatives of all services.

DSN: the military phone network. No, I don't know why the military has its own phone network, but it's been a minor annoyance to me in the past. Why? Because as far as I know, it's not possible for a civilian phone in a foreign country to call a DSN phone in that same country, even when you really, really want it to. Pain in the neck.

One more chapter to go! Thanks for hanging in with me!

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	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I lay claim to, any of the Numb3rs characters. I do appreciate the creators' willingness to let and its myriad writers to work them into our own stories. I do own the other characters in this fic, as well as this story.

This is the last chapter. Thanks to everyone for sticking it out with me. Thanks especially to Julie for her consistent encouragement. Reviews make the writers dance.

Chapter 11

"So how did they get you?" Asked David. "Helicopter?"

Smitty answered this time. "No, the mountain was too steep to land a helicopter on. They had to get in by the road in Humvees."

"D___ed good thing they got there when they did, too," said Granger, "because we were out of everything. They got there too late for Cpt. Lerg, though."

"You tried, man. We all tried. He was lucky to even make it that far."

"Yeah."

_Granger cut the phone's connection and began making his slow, careful way up the mountain. Behind him, small groups of Afghan men called to one another, hunting for the Americans in the area near the road. Luckily, these men were civilians not soldiers or even militia members. They knew these mountains from birth, and had they any military training Granger and the others would not have been able to get free of them. As it was, the men's voices slowly faded as Granger crept away from the village and then uphill. _

_  
The group had found a rough outcropping of rock about 200 meters uphill from the road and a mile or so away from the village. It overhung a curve in the road and afforded the soldiers a nearly 360 degree view of their surroundings. Jeeter watched Granger's slow approach. Then he guided Granger in to the group's chosen spot. The team's adrenaline was wearing off, and their still precarious position was again becoming clear. Granger's report on their impending rescue cheered the men and women around him, but Doc Smith's words were less reassuring. "If they don't come tomorrow, we're going to have to go down to the river and risk drinking that water. We're about out. And we may have to steal some food from that village or some homestead around here. I don't know. But we definitely need clean water, to drink and to wash with. Especially the wounded."_

_Granger nodded. They were all suffering from too much exertion, too little food and water, and way too little sleep. And there was just nothing anyone could do about it. Doc was right. They needed rescue, and soon. He looked at the newest member of their team, McQuaid. He lay on the ground, talking to Rodriguez in low tones. Doc had cleaned him up a bit and inserted an IV into his arm. The man looked exhausted. Beside him though, Rodriguez looked happy, and Granger realized that it was the first time he'd seen her so. _

Smitty cut in. "She'd thought she'd lost every member of her unit in the crash. McQuaid's survival was like a rope thrown to a drowning woman."

_Granger left the reunited National Guardsmen to their conversation and moved over to the Rangers. They lay on their stomachs, watching the road below, their rifles trained outward. "See anything?"_

"_Nothing since you came up the hill, Hero." Osterman looked Granger over, assessing what he saw. "I never saw a REMF handle himself like that before. Were you a real soldier sometime before you got all educated?"_

_Granger laughed. "I'll try to take that as a compliment, Sergeant. No, I came to the Army after college. I guess I just tried to do what you did down there. I figure, we don't have a whole lot of choice out here. Doc and Rodriguez are doing OK, too, and they're not Rangers. Could you call me Granger, Sergeant? The Hero thing is getting old."_

"_You think you only did what we did, huh?" Osterman shook his head in mild disbelief. "Right. Granger? Even sounds like Ranger."_

"You wouldn't believe it," interjected Smitty, "but Sergeant Osterman's not prone to compliments. And he'd NEVER call a REMF a Ranger. He was kinda insulted when he heard you left the Army, man."

"How'd he hear that? I haven't talked to him since the awards ceremony they made us go to at Walter Reed."

"He keeps tabs. He has his ways." Smitty quirked an eyebrow at Granger, "and besides which, I told him. He said he 'never did like college boys,' but he was upset. I think he wanted to recruit you into the real Army."

"I'd already decided to leave, long before I met your crazy team." Colby responded, but privately he smiled. A Ranger'd been impressed by him? He'd sure as heck been impressed by them. Cool.

"Anyway…OK, getting back to the longest night of my life except maybe my first night in jail…" He waved off Smitty's questioning look. He wasn't near drunk enough to get into THAT story.

_McQuaid, it turned out, had been thrown clear of the helicopter before it hit the ground. He'd fallen thirty feet, his uniform on fire, before losing consciousness on impact. By the time he'd woken up, after the team had moved to the hollow that first night, all McQuaid had been able to do was to listen to their firefight with the militia. He had been unable to stand or move to join them. The Afghans had found him when they'd gone in to loot the helicopter. _

_Every aviator carries something called a 'blood chit.' This is basically a note, in several languages, explaining that the bearer is an American and that if the person treats the bearer well and calls a number listed on the chit, the person will be rewarded. As the Afghans on the mountain that night couldn't read the chit, they'd ignored it. They knew for a fact, however, that the US, the Taliban and several local militant groups would all pay well for a live American captive. They tied the injured McQuaid, who was unable to walk far, to the back of the donkey Granger had seen the first night and taken him to the village, from where they knew they'd be able to contact one or more of the groups. The doctor had been calling the chosen group on his cell phone. Neither McQuaid nor the others, however, knew which side he'd chosen to contact. The doctor, of course, would have been able to read the blood chit, had the Afghanis who'd found McQuaid thought to give it to him. That is, so long as one of the men hadn't kept the chit as a souvenir. _

_McQuaid was badly burned in places and had several broken bones in his arms and torso, not to mention a rather spectacularly broken nose which showed up purple and black against his pale skin. Considering how he'd spent the prior few days, however, he was in reasonably good shape. Granger surveyed the rest of the party. Rodriguez sat with her leg stretched in front of her. Her boot was saturated with blood, as was the bandage wrapped around her pant leg. Today's activities couldn't have helped that any. Smith slept fitfully on the ground beside her. His legs hadn't bled much at all lately. Granger wondered why that was. They also didn't seem to be infected as Roderiguez's leg had been. Maybe Doc had been giving him those antibiotics she had? Most worrisome of all, however, was Cpt Lerg. He lay on his litter, not moving at all. His chest rose and fell, then stopped as his breath caught, then resumed. Granger turned back to Osterman. Nothing he could do._

_The night passed so slowly that Granger was sure at times that the full moon had stopped completely in its transit across the valley below. He thought he'd never sleep, but was surprised when Jeeter woke him at daybreak. "Your turn on guard." The man said, then plunked himself down on the ground and almost immediately, his chest rose and fell in the steady rhythm of sleep._

_Granger moved to the edge of the overhang, joining Doc in watching both sides of the turn in the road below. Doc didn't look up at him as he settled in beside her. "Lerg died about an hour ago." She told him in a flat voice. _

_Granger nodded. "I'm sorry." Doc didn't respond. There was nothing else to say._

_One quiet hour after sunrise, the team heard the first sounds of engines approaching on the dirt road below. A few minutes later, a brown-painted Humvee came roaring up the track, quickly followed by two others and then an ambulance. Granger and Doc stood up in their overlook and waved to the men below, hollering at the top of their lungs even though they knew that no one would be able to hear them over the noise of a Humvee engine. It didn't matter if no one heard. They yelled for the joy of it and for the relief of rescue. Jeeter, Osterman and McQuaid joined them in time to see a soldier in the second vehicle wave back. The Humvees slowed to a halt and soldiers poured out to form a protective circle. Two men began climbing the hill. Jeeter ran to meet them._

"I missed it," said Smitty with a 'Harumph.' "I was out cold. Missed the whole thing."

"I remember it like it was yesterday." Colby grinned. "The d___ed SF CO wouldn't even talk to me at first. Went straight to Sgt Osterman."

"Bet Osterman loved that."

"Osterman was…not so happy. Brought the CO up short and told him to talk to me. Stupid, really. Mission done, and I was more than happy to be a lowly Spec-4 again."

_Jeeter led two men into the hollow. Both had shaggy hair and beards, and neither wore rank or name tapes. Special Forces then. Made sense. They sized up the group, and one introduced himself to Sgt. Osterman. "I'm Captain Lewis, 7__th__ SOG. This is Sergeant Biddle. This everyone?"_

_Osterman shrugged. "Yeah. It is now. Granger here will tell you what's going on. I'm gonna take the wounded down to that ambulance." He turned his back on the SF Captain, and without another word tapped Jeeter on the shoulder. Osterman lifted Rodriguez and Jeeter put Smitty across his shoulders. They began to pick their way down the rocky slope to the Humvees._

_Lewis looked at Doc Smith, who shrugged and moved to help McQuaid stand. She propped the man up and together they began a slow shuffle after the others. Lewis turned his attention to Specialist Granger. "What happened?"_

"And the truth is," said Colby, looking at his friends gathered around him, "I didn't even know what to say to the guy. I just told him 'Helicopter crashed.' I didn't know how to even start the story. Crazy, huh?"

David smiled wanly. "Heh. Yeah. Crazy."

_While the Rangers and Doc helped load the wounded soldiers into the ambulance, Granger pulled out the map that had once belonged to Captain Lerg, who was still lying on his litter a few steps away. He pointed out the crash site to the Special Forces personnel, whose next mission after seeing the team home would be to recover Colonel Alero and the rest of the men left behind when they'd been forced to leave. Osterman returned as Granger finished. He lifted one side of Captain Lerg's litter while Granger picked up the other. Together, they took the man who had been Osterman's commanding officer to the ambulance. Lewis and Biddle followed, and soon the convoy had headed back the way they'd come._

_Granger rode in the ambulance with the other injured soldiers. He would have protested, except he was tired and riding in the ambulance meant having access to one of the beds bolted to its walls. When he stepped into the vehicle, the SF medic was cutting Rodriguez's boot off of her badly swollen foot. Her leg and foot were covered with dried blood, but it couldn't hide the skin's darkened color or the smell. Rodriguez was in worse shape than she'd admitted._

_They convoyed to a small, heavily fortified FOB, where every one of the team had to be shaken awake to say good bye to the SF guys. There, they boarded two helicopters for the ride back to Bagram Air Field. Not one of them slept in the helicopters. Not one. _

"I still can't sleep in a helicopter," admitted Smitty sheepishly. "D___ed things scare the s___ out of me."

"Yeah," agreed Granger, "me too. I used to love 'em."

_At Bagram, a doctor wearing a startlingly clean uniform x-rayed Granger's hands and sentenced the specialist to six weeks in a cast on the right one, four weeks in bandages for the left. "You were lucky," he told Granger. "It's not as bad as it looks." Granger didn't even dignify that with an answer._

"We got split up pretty fast after that," said Granger. "Osterman, Jeeter, Doc and I got patched up and were sent back to our own bases a couple of days later. McQuaid got shipped to Texas. There's a hospital there where the Army sends burn cases. By the time we got back to base, Rodriguez's leg and foot were so bad that she got sent to Germany with Smitty. They ended up taking the foot—they just couldn't save it."

"Yeah," supplied Smitty, "she was pissed about that, but not as pissed as Doc was when she found out! She and I spent a few weeks at Landstuhl before getting shipped to Walter Reed in DC. She got her prosthetic about a month before I got mine. We've been joking that when we have kids, each one of 'em will have twice as many feet as we have between us!"

"Kids?" asked Colby, spluttering and considering whether he'd heard correctly or just had too much liquor at this point. "You're having kids?"

"Well, yeah, Hero!" Smitty slapped his friend on the back. "I'm told that's expected after you get married!"

"Right!" interjected Don, "You were saying that Colby kept your fiancé alive. You're marrying Rodriguez? Congratulations!"

"Thank you." He turned serious, looking at his old friend. "That's really why I'm here, Hero, not that this storytelling session hasn't been a load of laughs. I came to ask if you'd be my best man. Kelly and I really want you there."

"Man, I wouldn't miss it."

_***************************************************************_

Civilian to Military Glossary

Walter Reed: Walter Reed Army Medical Center, in Washington DC. The Army's premier hospital, and easily the busiest prosthetic clinic in the world these days.

SF: Special Forces (AKA Green Berets). Later in the war, someone decided that they needed to cut their hair and shave their beards, but early on, they tried to look 'normal' to the Afghan citizens they often worked very closely with.

CO: Commanding Officer

Spec-4: Slang for the rank Specialist. These days, Specialist is the fourth rank from the bottom of the enlisted scale (E4). The slang is a holdover from when there were several specialist ranks, from E4 to E7.

SOG: Special Operations Group

Landstuhl: The town in Germany where the US military has its largest European hospital. Often the first stop for evacuated wounded soldiers who need high level surgeries but can't handle a thirty-hour plane ride back to the States.

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On June 30th, two days before I began uploading this fic, the Taliban captured a young American soldier. At this time, it is unknown where the man is. Yesterday a tape was released to the AP. The soldier is alone, terrified, and will likely never return to his family. My thoughts are with him, and his family.


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